johanan

the years mount up
but do not gallop off
not yet though soon they'll run amok
tonight we are between time
between destiny darkness fortune and luck
i want to give you a gift
something that rhymes
but the only theme i can think of
is an old gag along familiar lines
about the world being at war the day you were born
it is you know
it always was
and it will be so in the morn
history itself is a storm
of souls against the infinite
but the thought rings too violent
for the poem i want
and i am left
with something
half achieved
something
more prose than poem
inspiration flees
soon no more words will come
the jungle chirrup
of fledgelings in the hedgerow
draws my eyes to the window
the darkness pulses
as a million times before
into something old
something new
something murky pure

grey light becoming white light
as the firstlings of the dawn drink the night